Whatever (17 page)

“You mean why am I still here? Not off playing bridge at Silver Strands Rest Home with other dithering relics?”

“Um . . . yes.”

She grinned. “Told my sons I deserved one last Christmas in my own home. Lectured them up one side and down the other, asked how they could even think of making me move at Christmas time. Reminded them of all the Christmases they'd spent here, how when they were little they'd run down the hall in their pajamas, eager to see what Santa had brought. I dredged up every memory of Christmas in this house I could think of. Caught Robin's dad wiping at tears and trying not to let me see.”

“You guilted them!”

“Indeed I did. Very thoroughly. There will be no more talk of me leaving my home until the new year.”

I burst out laughing. “Must have been a great performance.”

“One of my best,” she said. “Academy award quality, if I do say so myself. So, grab the recipe box and look up ‘Yule Log.' Today we'll make a shopping list; we need nuts and candied peel and other things I don't keep in the pantry. Karen will go shopping for me, and the next time you come you can make it.”

I wrote out the list of ingredients. “Unsalted Brazil nuts, maraschino cherries, one jar red, one jar green . . .”

Mrs. J. had to explain what maraschino cherries were; I'd never seen one. “They come in jars, sort of like candied fruit, in a sweet syrup. They used to be popular in cocktails, back when everyone served cocktails—those fancy drinks with olives, cherries or tiny onions and different types of juices and syrups.”

Once the shopping list was finished, I asked, “What else will I do today?”

“Help Robin. He's bringing a tree. I'm not decorating it all by myself. But first, grab that box of apple juice on the counter and let's get some Christmas cider simmering.”

Apple juice, orange slices, spices—it didn't take long to mix the cider. I put the pot on the stove, on low, and put the spices away. I was just setting out mugs and cookies on a tray when the doorbell rang.

A huge tree filled the doorway. From somewhere deep in the branches, Robin's voice emerged. “Don't know if this is going to fit through the door. Gran said to get a big one, so I did.”

Between the two of us, Robin and I maneuvered the tree into the front hall. Mrs. J. hovered and issued instructions. “Robin, grab a sheet from the linen cupboard, one of the old flannel ones. Darrah, help him wrap it around the tree, then the two of you might be able to get it into the living room without breaking half the branches.”

“Okay, Gran, but you have to move out of the way so I can get past.”

I hung onto the tree, while Robin wriggled around me, returning with a sheet. We managed to swaddle the tree, and get it into the living room. There was a red metal stand waiting for it, and we gently eased the tree in.

The top two inches of the tree bent against the ceiling, but otherwise it fit perfectly. Mrs. J. gave more instructions, “It's leaning, pull it more to your right, girl. Robin, make sure those screws are tight enough or it won't stay straight. Move it to the right, no, that's too much, a bit left. Hold it steady, now.”

Robin stood on a chair and snipped off enough of the top so the tree reached the ceiling without bending, then all three of us stood back and admired it. “Perfect,” announced Mrs. J. “Good choice, Robin. Now, go get the decorations, the box is on the top cupboard shelf in—”

“In the storage room in the basement. Yes, Gran, I've done this before.” He left, followed slowly by Mrs. J. who shouted instructions from the top of the basement stairs.

I stood alone by the tree, smelling the forest. My family had always used an artificial tree, one with the lights already attached. For a while we'd used a silvery aluminum tree with red lights which had belonged to my grandma. I loved the way the lights sparkled in that tree, reflecting off the shiny needles. But when I was twelve, Dad decided we should have a tree that looked more like a tree, so we got a new one. Every year he hauled it up from the basement and set it up proudly. “Can hardly tell it from the real thing, can you?” he'd ask and we'd all nod and agree with him.

But our tree was nothing like a real one. I breathed in this tree, and touched a branch. The needles pricked at my wrist; the branch was rough and felt cool. It looked and smelled like Christmas should.

Chapter Fifteen

ROBIN CAME BACK
, face flushed, a large box balanced in his arms. Mrs. J. issued more instructions. “Set it on the coffee table. Careful, those ornaments are breakable.”

“Yes, Gran.” Robin sighed as he lowered the box. “I did this last year, and the year before, I know all about your precious glass ornaments.” He had a strand of cobweb stuck to his head, dangling over one ear like a lace scarf, and a dusty smudge on his forehead.

Both Mrs. J. and I laughed. “Go wash,” she said to him. “Then we'll get started.”

The box was packed to the brim. I opened it and began removing boxes of glass ornaments, some the usual round
shape, but some that looked like teardrops. The small boxes they were packed in were so old the cardboard had yellowed, and the narrow strips of cardboard separating the ornaments were bent and torn.

“Lights first,” commanded Mrs. J. as Robin pulled out a string of old fashioned lights, large ones, not the tiny mini-lights. We all cheered when he plugged in the string and every single bulb lit up.

“That's good, Gran. I don't know if you can buy replacement bulbs that size anymore.”

Robin and I stood on either side of the tree, passing the lights back and forth as we wound them around the tree, ending with a yellow light at the very top.

Mrs. J. had been pulling ornaments from the box. “Here,” she announced. “This one goes on first. I'll hang it, then the two of you can do the rest of the decorations.”

She leaned on her cane as she reached up the tree, her hand trembling as she tried to hook a loop of string over a branch. I went to help, but Robin shook his head. “Gran has to do it. It's tradition.”

The ornament finally secured, Mrs. J. moved to the couch. She sat down, both hands clasped over the cane in front of her. “What are you waiting for? Get busy.”

I chose a golden teardrop ornament and deliberately hung it near where Mrs. J. had put her decoration. I saw it wasn't much, a lopsided star, probably cardboard, covered in what looked like tinfoil with a loop of yarn glued to the back. The
branches moved as I hung my ornament, and the motion made the star twist. It was definitely covered in tinfoil, I could see a strip of yellowing tape at the back, holding the foil together. What's so special about this? I wondered.

As if she had read my thoughts, Mrs. J. explained. “It's from the first tree my husband and I had as newlyweds. It was a small tree, not much bigger than a table lamp. We put it in a big ugly flower vase someone had given us for a wedding present and used rocks to hold it steady. We couldn't afford to buy lights or ornaments, so we made decorations ourselves. Popcorn strings, ribbon bows and ten silver stars. This is the only one left now. It's been on every Christmas tree I've ever had.”

“It's lovely,” I lied.

“No, it's not. Don't be silly. But it's part of my life, and I like to see it on the tree.”

It didn't take us long to empty the box. I left Robin carefully hanging icicles, one flimsy strand at a time, and went to get the cider and cookies.

“Bring two of my pills, when you come back. And a glass of water.”

I did, and once she'd gulped the pills, and Robin and I each had a mug of cider and a couple of cookies in front of us, she asked him to turn off the overhead lights.

We sat in darkness except for the lights of the Christmas tree, sipping cider. No one spoke for a while, and finally I heard Mrs. J. sigh.

“Thank you both. I'll always remember this tree.”

“No problem, Gran. Glad to help. I'll do it next . . . I mean, I like setting up your tree . . .”

“It's all right, Robin. We'll enjoy this one, and not worry about next year.”

“I wish you didn't have to move.”

“I do, too, but it has to be. We all know that, don't we?”

He nodded, started to say something, then his voice faltered and he stopped.

“Time for you both to go. Take the tray into the kitchen, girl, then leave it. David's coming over later, he'll help wash up the mugs. But first clean up this mess.”

I started putting the tissue paper and fragile empty boxes away. When I was finished, Robin picked up the box. “I'll take it downstairs.” I heard him in the kitchen, blowing his nose. “Dust in my eyes,” he said loud enough for us to hear, but I knew he was wiping away tears.

“Goodbye, Mrs. J. See you Monday.”

She nodded goodbye from her seat on the couch, her eyes still on the Christmas tree. “Good. We'll make the Yule Log. Double recipe so you can take one home for your family.”

“Thanks,” I said. It had started snowing while we were decorating the tree. A layer of flakes dusted the ground, and snow had settled on the car windshield. Robin brushed it off before climbing in. He started the engine and turned on the wipers to clear the last of the snow. The car filled with an awkward silence. This was the first time I'd been alone with
him since the day Andrew had told him about his grandmother's eyes. It hadn't been too bad while we were putting the tree up, but now I didn't know what to say.

I swallowed. “I'm sorry that Andrew—”

He cut me off. “It's okay, really. All the clues were there, someone in the family would have figured it out soon.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said again.

“It will be all right,” he said, as much to himself as to me. “After Christmas the whole family—everyone, my brothers, cousins, a few wives, even kids—will be in town. Gran won't let anyone stay with her, but we'll all help her pack up and get rid of her stuff. Then we'll move her. It will be all right.”

More silence. I was thinking, no, it won't be all right for Mrs. J., not at all right. She'd enjoyed watching her Christmas tree being decorated, making sure that Robin and I did it the way she wanted. When she'd hung the homemade silver star, her face had softened and she'd smiled. I hoped someone would pack that star for her to take to her new place. I hoped that Robin and I could decorate a tree for her next year.

“I can go and see her in the . . . in her new place every day after school,” said Robin. “At least, until I go away to university.”

“I'll go see her, too. I should be getting my driver's license soon.” Once the sanctions were done, I could apply for my learner's, Mom and Dad had promised. “I'll go see her, especially when you're away.”

I might be able to get that learner's license sooner than I had thought I could, thanks to Andrew. The doctor had put
him on another new medication. He said he felt better, and so far he hadn't had a seizure. Last night he talked about going back to soccer. Mom said she was too busy to drive him to practices, even if the doctor said it was all right for him to play, which she doubted. I'd offered to take him and watch him. “It would be much easier if I had my driver's license,” I'd said, hopefully. Mom and Dad had exchanged glances.

“Maybe,” said my father.

“We'll talk about it,” said my mother.

“I'm making spaghetti for dinner,” I said to Robin. “Want to stay?”

“Grandma's recipe?”

“Of course. But I leave out the garlic. My family doesn't like garlic—yet.”

“Too bad. Don't know if I can eat spaghetti without garlic in the sauce. But I'm willing to try.”

“Good, you can chop the onions. They make me cry.”

He parked in front of our house. The lights were on, it looked welcoming. We hadn't put up our Christmas tree yet, but Dad said we'd do it on the weekend.

Andrew was deep in a
Star Trek
rerun. When he saw Robin, he looked uncomfortable. “Uh . . . hi,” he said.

“Hey, Andrew,” said Robin cheerfully, as if nothing had happened. “I'm invited to dinner. Tell me the truth, how's Darrah's spaghetti sauce? Any good?”

“Better than the stuff from the pizza place,” said Andrew. “You want to watch
Voyager
with me?”

“Sure.” Robin plopped down beside him.

“He can't. He promised to help me in the kitchen. Besides, you've seen this episode hundreds of times. Even I've seen it twice. Haven't you got homework?”

Andrew flicked off the TV, muttering, “You're getting worse than Mom. She didn't even notice that I'm still watching TV.”

He climbed the stairs, still grumbling. Mom's voice floated down. “Is Darrah home yet? It's her night to cook dinner.”

“Just going to start it, Mom,” I shouted up the stairs. “Ready in half an hour.”

She didn't answer, I guess she'd gone back to her work, dealing with whatever office crisis had happened today.