The Gift of Christmas Present (12 page)

Just then she saw the Ford Explorer pull up with Jimmy waving from inside. “Hey,” he called as he stuck his head out the window. “Am I late?”

She jogged up to the SUV. “No. I was just early.”

“How you doing?” he asked as she buckled her seat belt.

“Okay, I guess. Considering.” She sighed. “But I really do feel bad for making such a mess of everything for your stepmother.”

“
Your
grandmother.”

She nodded. “Yeah. But I doubt she'll ever want me to call her that. In fact, I won't be surprised if she refuses to let me into her house. She was really mad at me yesterday.”

“I know. But she can be like that. She might come across as pretty feisty and mean, but underneath everything she has a very tender heart.”

Christine studied him in wonder. Of all the members of the Daniels family, Jimmy seemed the most thoughtful and kind. “Can I ask you a question, Jimmy?”

“Sure.”

“What makes you so nice?”

He laughed. “Oh, you should see me getting down on the boys' basketball team lately. I'm sure they wouldn't agree with that assessment.”

“Well, I appreciate your help in this.”

“Hey, we're family now. And I happen to think Mom needs someone like you around right now.”

“It's interesting that you call her Mom. I mean, she's really your stepmom, and she's not always exactly nice to you.”

He smiled. “Well, she and I have an understanding. Both my parents have passed on, and she's always been there for me. I guess I've pretty much adopted her as
Mom
.”

“That's cool.”

“Sometimes family isn't so much about whose DNA you're carrying as it is about love. You know?”

“Definitely. I mean, my parents aren't my birth parents, but I love them both more than anything.”

“Even so, I think it's important that you get involved in Mom's life. Like I said before, I think she needs you.”

“Even after the way I deceived her?”

“Hey, we all make mistakes, Christine. It's the way we deal with them afterward that makes a difference.”

“Yeah, I'm sure you're right. But I usually don't make mistakes of this caliber.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can understand how this whole thing might've happened. I know as well as anyone that Mom can be pretty intimidating, and if she gets going in a certain direction, it can be awfully hard to derail her. Besides that, you've been an excellent caregiver to her. That's something.”

“I actually really like her. Although I wasn't too sure at first. I mean, she can be, well, like you said, intimidating.”

He laughed. “Yeah, and I can think of a few other words people might use to describe her. But they're not very nice words.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“What's up with her and your Aunt Hattie?”

He blew a long, low whistle. “Funny you should ask . . . since that's a can of worms that has just turned potentially explosive.” He laughed. “Wow, talk about mixing your metaphors. You can sure tell I don't teach English.”

“What do you mean by explosive?”

“Well, now that Mom knows Lenore is dead, and Aunt Hattie is here . . . Well, it might get interesting or ugly, or who knows . . . maybe they'll fall into each other's arms and forgive each other for everything. Now, wouldn't that be something.” He pulled into the driveway.

“But what does Aunt Hattie have to do with Lenore?” Christine asked, eager to get to the bottom of this before they went inside.

“I don't know the full story. I don't think anyone really does. Well, besides Aunt Hattie and Mom, that is. But they got into it at Dad's funeral. All I know is that it had to do with Dad and Lenore and there was a lot of blame and accusation going on. But I never heard exactly why or what, which was probably just as well. But, as you could tell the other night, Mom is still not over it. And I'm not too sure about Aunt Hattie either.” He turned off the ignition and got out of the SUV. “Although Aunt Hattie never brings it up, not to me anyway. In fact, she acts as if nothing ever happened. But then she's a sweet little lady. I'm hoping she plans to help Mom to bury the hatchet.”

“That'd be good.”

“You're going to like Aunt Hattie, Christine. She and Mom are complete opposites.” He laughed as they walked up to the front door. “Being so different makes me think these two old gals should actually get along better.”

Christine's heart was pounding like a jackhammer as she followed Jimmy down the hallway. Was she making a mistake in coming back here so soon? Perhaps Esther needed more time to recover from her shock.

“Mom,” he called in a cheerful voice as they approached her bedroom. “You up yet?”

But her bed was empty. It looked as if there had been some sort of struggle, with the satin comforter half on the floor and the bench overturned against the wall.

“Goodness,” Christine said. “I hope she's okay.”

They hurried out to the living room to discover her asleep in her recliner, snoring softly.

“She looks fine to me,” he whispered to Christine.

“What?” Esther jerked herself awake. “Who is it? What's going on?”

“Hi, Mom,” Jimmy said, walking over to her chair. “It's just me, coming to check on you. I brought Christine with me, and before you get yourself all riled up, we'd like to sit down and talk to you, rationally.”

She nodded without saying anything.

Jimmy pointed to the couch. “Take a seat, Christine.”

She followed his order and sat down across from her grandmother. Then she waited as he pulled up a side chair and sat next to his stepmom. The three of them sat in a triangle, and Jimmy began to speak. “I know that you think Christine is lying about Lenore, but I've talked with her and gone over some things, and I have no reason to think she's not telling the truth.” He held up one finger. “For one thing, she can produce a birth certificate from her dad's safety deposit box.” He held up two fingers. “And she said you can call her dad and ask him.” He put up a third finger. “And she can take you to Lenore's grave and—”

“That's enough, Jimmy,” she snapped. “No more fingers.”

“But, Mom.”

“And no more buts.” She glanced at Christine and then back to Jimmy. “I know she's Lenore's daughter. I think that, somewhere inside of me, I knew it from the very first day she showed up at my door.” She looked down in her lap and let out a long sigh. “And I also know that Lenore's dead. The truth is I think I've known it all along. I just never wanted to admit it before.”

“I wish I'd been bringing you happier news,” Christine said.

“Well, it doesn't do any good to beat up the messenger,” Jimmy said.

“I'm so sorry about everything,” Christine told her grandmother. “I hope someday you'll be able to forgive me. But I'll understand if you don't.”

“Don't call me Esther anymore,” she said.

Christine nodded, feeling certain that she was about to be dismissed for good.

“You can call me Grandmother,” she continued. “Or Grandma, I suppose, like Jimmy's kids do. Although I'm not particularly fond of that title.” Her lips turned up at the edges just slightly. “And I'm sorry I didn't believe you yesterday, Christine. I guess I just hoped it wasn't true, about Lenore, I mean. No one likes to learn that their child has . . . has died . . .”

“I'm so sorry,” Christine said, wishing she could say something else. But nothing else seemed to work.

Her grandmother slowly shook her head. “There should be a law . . . ,” she said in a tired voice. “There should be a law that children should never die before their parents do—” She began to choke up again. “But I guess I'm partly to blame for Lenore's death. I—I never should've—” She put her hands over her face and began to sob.

“Oh, Mom,” Jimmy said, reaching over to put his hand on her heaving shoulders. “You can't go blaming yourself for Lenore's death.”

Christine wasn't sure she could watch this display of emotion without falling apart herself. She felt she was barely holding it together as it was, and so she excused herself and headed off to the kitchen to make some strong
coffee and fix breakfast just the way Esther—just the way
Grandmother
—liked it.

Her grandmother seemed nearly recovered when Christine appeared with the breakfast tray. “You should probably eat something,” she told her as she set the tray on the table next to her.

“Good thinking,” Jimmy said. “Sorry to run off like this, but I promised Felicity I'd watch the kids while she does some quick Christmas shopping. And, by the way, she'll be picking up Aunt Hattie at the train station.”

“Speaking of Aunt Hattie,” Esther said. “I wonder if Felicity couldn't keep her for a while today.” She glanced at Christine. “We have something we need to attend to, if that's okay with you, Christine.”

She shrugged. “I'm at your disposal, Grandmother.”

Esther smiled. “Good.”

“I'm sure that'll be okay with Felicity,” Jimmy assured them. “Maybe we could take the old girl out for an early dinner tonight. I wonder if she still likes Chinese food.”

“I wouldn't know,” Esther said stiffly.

Christine wished she could ask her grandmother about the conflict between her and her sister-in-law, but in light of all the recent emotional upheavals, she felt it unwise.

“Then we can drop Aunt Hattie by the house this evening?” Jimmy asked.

Esther nodded with a grim expression. “That should be fine.”

After breakfast Christine helped her grandmother bathe and dress as usual, but perhaps with just a bit more tenderness than before. She didn't say much.

“You're being awfully quiet,” her grandmother said as Christine helped her slip her good foot into a loafer.

“Sorry.”

“I would think you'd be filled with questions.”

Christine looked up at her. “Oh, I am. But I hate to push things too much. You've had a lot to take in. I guess we both have.”

She nodded. “You're pretty wise for your age. Well, in most things. I still don't think it was terribly wise to trick me like that. But then I suppose it seemed right at the time.”

“What is it we need to take care of today?” Christine asked. “I suppose we need to pick up a few more groceries since we're having company . . .”

“Yes, there's that too. But first we need to drive over to Larchwood.”

Christine nodded. “To see her grave.”

“Yes. I need to do that.”

“Do you want to stop by the bank and see my birth certificate too?” Christine asked.

Esther shook her head. “No, I don't think that's necessary.”

“I do have a question that's pestered me more than most,” Christine said as she drove toward Larchwood. “It's about my birth father.”

Esther looked out the passenger window without answering.

“But it's okay if you'd rather not talk about it now,” she said quickly. “I'm just curious, you know.”

“The problem is that I'm not too sure, Christine. At the
time I really thought it was Lenore's on-again, off-again boyfriend, Peter Summers. I never really approved of the young man and didn't feel he was a good match for Lenore. But when I bumped into him on campus one day, just a few months after she'd left, I confronted him about the pregnancy, and he completely denied everything. Of course, Lenore had insisted from the very beginning that it wasn't Peter's child.” Esther turned and looked out the window again. “But I didn't listen.”

“Do you have any idea who my father might be?” Christine asked. She didn't like the idea that her birth mother had possibly been the kind of girl to sleep around and not even know who the father of her child was. It didn't fit with the image Christine had built into her head. But then again if it was the truth, it would be best to just get it out in the open.

Without answering, her grandmother opened her Gucci handbag and reached in for a handkerchief to dab her eyes.

“I'm sorry if I'm upsetting you,” Christine said. “We can talk about something else.”

She nodded. “Yes, I think I'd appreciate that.”

But they didn't talk about anything else. They just drove the next forty minutes in silence. But Christine knew what they were both thinking about, or rather whom. Lenore Blackstone was very much on their minds. As they entered Larchwood, Christine broke the silence. “The house I grew up in is down that street.” She pointed toward Meadow Lane.

“Drive past it,” Esther said.

Christine turned down the street and drove the five
blocks to her house. “That's it,” she said as she parked on the other side of the street from the small clapboard-sided house. “It was always yellow when we lived there. That was my mother's favorite color. The new renters must've painted it.” She felt a tightness in her chest, a longing to go back to her safe childhood world.

“It's awfully small,” her grandmother said. “But I think it would've looked better painted yellow.”

Christine smiled. “It did.”

“And you lived there your whole life?”

She nodded.

“And is that the house where Lenore stayed with your parents?”

“Yes. My parents lived there for more than ten years before I was born. The mortgage is completely paid off, and the rent money is supporting my dad while he's volunteering in the mission school. It was his lifelong dream.”

“Well, good for him. Your parents sound like fine people, Christine. I'm thankful for that. For your sake, I mean.”

“So am I.” Christine began to pull away, resisting the urge to look back. “It used to bother me some, as a child, that my parents were so much older than everyone else's. I guess I was actually embarrassed by them sometimes. I'm ashamed to think of that now.”