The Christmas Light (5 page)

—R
OBERT
F
ROST

The rain rattles on the window of Dr. Becke’s office, the watery streams looking like waves and blisters in the glass. Jen watches as Avery draws and colors a picture of a balloon on the coffee table. Jen assumes that Dr. Becke would probably say the picture is a good sign; but Jen can’t help but think that Avery’s spirit is as deflated as a day-old balloon. Maybe that’s what the picture represents instead.

“We had a conversation,” Jen starts. “She somehow feels that her dad’s not being here is her fault. My fault. That we are bad people and this is our punishment.”

Dr. Becke nods, watching Avery draw. “You think that what happened is your—”

“I don’t want to talk about what happened,” Avery says. “I keep saying that.”

“And I keep saying that we have to talk about it,” Dr. Becke says, smiling.

“You two talk about it all the time,” Avery says without glancing up. “Seems to me that’s enough.”

Dr. Becke looks at Jen and they both know that Avery can be pushed only so far. “How are you sleeping?”

Avery shrugs. She is cautious, as if observing herself from a distance. Giving away too much might let too many people in. “Good.” Dr. Becke looks at Jennifer and she shakes her head. Avery’s bed-wetting has not stopped.

“Do you dream about your dad while you sleep?”

Jennifer leans over, resting her forearms on her knees. For months her own sleep has been swept clean of dreams.

“Sometimes.”

“And what is your dad doing in your dreams?”

Avery picks up a red crayon and begins coloring the balloon, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I just see him and I tell him that dads don’t leave.” Jennifer’s heart pitches to her throat and she looks at the rug under her feet.

Dr. Becke sits on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table and reaches for a blank sheet of paper and some crayons. “Does he say anything to you?”

Avery picks another shade of red and adds deeper shades to the balloon. “Nope. He just leaves again.”

“Are you sad when you see him?” Avery nods. “Are you afraid?” She shakes her head. “Do you feel frustrated or anxious in the dream?”

Avery adds a long tail to the balloon and begins to color a blue sky behind it. “I feel frustrated.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to talk to him and can’t. I always want to call him but Mom says…” She doesn’t finish.

“Have you tried to call him?”

She nods, making huge strokes on the paper. “He won’t answer the phone. There aren’t any phones in heaven.” Jennifer wipes a tear from her eye before Avery can see.

“What would you ask him?” Dr. Becke says.

Avery doesn’t look up from her drawing. “I’d ask him why he left.”

Jen looks up at the ceiling, hoping her tears will remain locked in place.

Dr. Becke leans forward. “And what do you want your dad to say?”

“I want him to say that he’ll come back home and play with me and make pancakes with Mom on Saturday morning.” Avery fills in every trace of white on the paper and Jen wipes her face.

After several more questions about school and favorite things to do the session ends. Dr. Becke hangs the picture of the balloon over her desk and opens a drawer, filled with small packages of Goldfish crackers. Avery reaches for one and looks to her mother, who nods. She opens it and walks into the waiting room, sitting down next to the toys. Dr. Becke and Jennifer stand in the hallway where they can talk and still keep an eye on Avery. “She’s not fearful,” Dr. Becke says. “I see children who are afraid and Avery is not one of them.”

“Then why is she wetting the bed again?” Jen whispers.

Dr. Becke crosses her arms, revealing short, plain, yet well-manicured nails. “Because the past caught up with her last year at this time and it’s catching up with her again. It’s actually a good thing. It has taken her a while but she’s peeling back the layers of grief.”

Jen watches her daughter as she has watched her so many times over the years, feeling as if any moment her chest would burst open. She would do anything to take away the wordless meals and the anxious nights of sleep. She would pay anything to hear Avery’s laugh again. She feels the lump in her throat and remains quiet.

Dr. Becke smiles, touching her shoulder. “Keep talking. Keep encouraging her to try new things. And talk more at bedtime. Talk about rest for her mind and her body and the excitement of a new day tomorrow. Sunrise has a way of wiping the slate clean, bringing with it a new day.”

Jennifer nods. A new day. They survived yesterday and the yesterdays before that and will awaken to a new day. But what about tomorrow? “Go where you are needed,” her mother keeps saying. “Do what is needed. Take care of the needs of today and the rest will take care of itself.” Jennifer is doing her part but she feels that “the rest” is not holding to its part of the bargain and she always finds herself hoping for more. She often wishes she could pick up the threads of yesterday, wad them together between her thumb and index finger, and throw them away. Each time they visit Dr. Becke’s office she hopes for giant strides but comes away with yet another baby step to help Avery take.

When she made this appointment, Jen had no idea that they would be helping with the Nativity. Avery’s first practice is scheduled for immediately afterward, and although Jen feels emotionally drained, she is surprised when Avery doesn’t complain about going. They follow the noise inside the church, past the lobby, and down the hall to the choir room. A couple dozen adults and children stand and sit among the chairs, talking. Gloria and Miriam are next to the piano, bent over the music. Their words come out like a fast-paced melody. Miriam is wearing a red angora sweater and white pearls and Gloria is in a red sweatshirt decorated with a snowman wearing a top hat. Jen smiles as she looks at them, and holding Avery’s hand, she is filled with a quivering lurch of excitement for her.

“Well, look at you, babe!” Gloria’s arms are open and moving toward her, drawing her in. “It has been several months, hasn’t it?”

Jen smiles. “I told Miriam we have every intention of coming back to Glory’s Place.”

“Well, you know that Dalton and Heddy would be thrilled to see you there again and I would be over-the-moon excited.” She laughs and bends over, looking at Avery. “When Miriam told me you were going to be part of the angel choir I just knew it was going to be the best choir ever!” She takes her hand and leads her away from Jennifer. “You can come right over here and sit down next to Sofia and Miss Lily. Miss Lily’s responsible for Miriam and me being in charge of the Nativity this year, so if anything goes wrong, be sure to blame her.” Lily pats the chair next to her and Avery sits and glances at her mom. Jen smiles, nodding.

Gloria races back to Jennifer’s side, lacing an arm with hers. “Miriam said you would think about helping out. Have you?” Jen smiles and that’s enough for Gloria. “I’m hoping that means yes!”

Jen throws her arms into the air. “Anything for you, Gloria!”

“And God,” Gloria says.

“Of course! That’s a given in His house and all.”

Gloria laughs, squeezing her arm. “Do you think you could help my nephew with the set whenever he needs it and then give me some help with the costumes down the road?”

“Sure, Gloria. Wherever you need me is fine but I don’t know anything about building a set.”

“I have complete confidence in you,” Gloria says, pointing. “Ryan’s in the big room at the end of the hall. You can’t miss it, it’s the one with all the hammering going on.”

Jen takes a final look at Avery, who seems engrossed in a polite conversation with Sofia and Lily. She doesn’t hear hammering but pokes her head inside the door at the end of the hall. A large plywood wall has been erected in the center of the room and chairs have been stacked and moved against the walls.

“Hello! Is Ryan in here?”

Ryan looks around the plywood, stepping out in front of it. Jen laughs, shaking her head. “When Gloria said ‘nephew,’ I pictured a fifteen-year-old.”

She is lovely, carved in soft lines with a smile a bit crooked and shy. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Her jeans fit just so, and Ryan feels like his brain is a fluid, slippery mess inside his head. “I’m sure she probably still pictures me that way.”

He steps closer and Jen feels a catch in her chest. His face has been weathered by hope and pain, and he has coffee-brown eyes and sandy hair.

“No Cat in the Hat hat today?” he asks.

The memory collapses Jennifer’s face into a scowl and then she laughs. “What a way to be remembered! That was silly-hat day at school. I typically don’t wear that hat in public.”

“Do you save the cheese-head hat for that?”

Jen laughs and slides her purse strap farther up onto her shoulder. “I hope your family has decided where to live.”

“We’re still looking. I have a couple of job offers, so we could find something here in Grandon and that would give me a thirty-minute drive to Hazelton Construction, or if I take the job in Riverside, that’d be a move four hours away. So far, Sofia likes a house here but I’m still interviewing with both companies.”

“What about your wife? What does she like?”

Ryan picks up his hammer and studies it. “It’s just Sofia and me. I’m divorced.”

Jen is often uncertain how to react to someone when they say they are divorced. Is
I’m sorry
appropriate? Or
Whew! I bet you’re glad that’s over!

“It’s funny but there are few people who tell you that marriage could be a bumpy and dangerous ride.”

He nods. “Divorce is hard. So many times I thought it’d be so much easier if Julie just wasn’t here. You know, it’d be easier if she’d passed away than deal with so much stuff that we keep dealing with.” Ryan looks at her and realizes he’s said too much. His eyes fall on her ring and something sharp slips beneath his skin.

This is one of those moments when Ryan could be swept along in a current of sadness, remembering what he once had and realizing there are some things he may never have again. He turns away so she can’t see the look on his face. When he was growing up, Ryan’s father always told him that if he wasn’t paying attention, if he was looking the other way, a moment might come that he’s been waiting for, and he’ll miss it. But sometimes, Ryan knows, he can’t look too hard or too long. He just has to turn away, hoping the moment will pass.

He’s grateful when Ed and Gabrielle return. Ed is a grandpa and self-professed handyman. Within minutes of meeting him, Ryan knew he has four grandchildren, worked in the administrative offices of the local school system before retiring, and has been married for forty-three years. Gabrielle is single and in her late twenties. Her legs are long, her hair is soft, and her laugh is loud as she enters the room. “This is Ed Law and Gabrielle Marvin. They’re helping, along with three others who aren’t here yet. This is Jennifer.”

She smiles. He had remembered her name.

“Are you part of the singles group?” Gabrielle asks. She is a fine-boned brunette with pale green eyes and a brow crinkled together in a girlish way as if something new and exciting is always on her mind.

Jennifer shakes her head. “No.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever seen you.” She turns her attention to Ryan. “The group is putting together shoe boxes for Operation Christmas Child on Saturday. Maybe that’s something you and Sofia would like to help with. Lots of kids will be there.”

Ryan reaches into a box of nails and smiles at Gabrielle. “That’d be great.”

Gabrielle smiles. Jen thinks she looks satisfied and as if she’s on her way to something new. Jen has no reason to feel sad but she does.

“So, we are the stable makers,” Ed says, lifting a piece of plywood. “Let’s see your hands, young gal.” Jen holds up her hands, smiling. “Eh, I guess they’ll do. Check out that hand,” he says, holding his palm in front of her. “Nice and big. Good for lifting, hammering, and such.” He claps his hand against the board. “Well … let’s start cobbling this thing together.”

Jen takes off her jacket and lays it across a chair. She’s cobbling together new days for herself and Avery as best she can. Maybe the miracles of Christmas that Gloria talks about are somewhere there in the cobbling.

SIX

The quality of mercy is not strained;

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes …

—W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE

Sixteen-year-old Kaylee stands on the sidewalk in front of the church, looking at it. Part of her wants to believe there is something inside those walls for someone like her, but the other part, the part that feels trashy and trashed, believes otherwise. Sex wasn’t anything like what she has seen in the movies or on TV and scripted dialogue has never come close to her feelings of betrayal and loss after telling Jared she was pregnant. When word got out, it was obvious that she was considered the one who had been on the prowl for a quick hookup. The looks and murmurs among her classmates were reserved for her, not Jared. She was the slut, not him. For the last four months she has been homeschooled around her mother’s work schedule.

She and Jared tried to make things work but an expanding belly gets in the way of football and homework and hanging with friends, and whatever relationship they had began to fizzle. Then there was the awkward conversation with her parents and Jared’s parents about child support where Jared would never make eye contact with her and she knew it was over. Unlike television shows, there has been no witty or dramatic script with profound words of loneliness, anger, doubt, and shame for her to speak. She shoves her hands deep into her pockets and looks up at the church, Grandon Community. This is the one that the woman at the Christmas tree lot told her about. She has lived in Grandon all her life but has rarely noticed it; she and her parents went to another church, the one on the other side of town with the big gymnasium, at Christmas and sometimes Easter.