These Starcrossed Lives of Ours (8 page)

Ian

This was the first time Christie managed to make me angry, and damn, was she good at it. She’d hit me at a place that was so vulnerable at so terrible a time, it was unbelievable. My faith meant everything to me. I knew Christie couldn’t understand that because of where she was and all she’d went through, but at the very least I wanted her to appreciate what I believed.

I smacked the steering wheel, hard. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let a kid disappear right under my nose? I knew that I was only a social worker, but I felt responsible for every one of those kids. They were all special to me in different ways, and the child that was missing, Harlem, was no exception. He reminded me a little bit of myself, running wild around on the playground with an energy that exhausted everyone but his classmates. He was often found in my office because he had ADHD and the teachers had trouble handling him, but he never gave me any problems. He had a lot of talent, in the classroom and on the sports field when he played soccer. He was so bright and cheerful. The thought of that child being extinguished by the darkness of the world was enough to...

I hit the steering wheel again. Dammit Ian! I had to keep it together! I pulled into church, slamming my car door. I needed to calm down. The last thing I needed was the community seeing me like this and then talking behind my back, making my boss think I was unfit for the job. My best friend Kara was outside the door, leaning on the wall.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re late. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just a little upset.”

“I can imagine,” she said, opening the door. “It’s complete chaos in there. Are you sure you want to go in there?”

“I’ve done everything I can for this boy, Kara,” I said, and I dropped my head. “My head’s on the chopping block at work. The parents are calling for all of us to be fired, and since I’m new, I’m the first target.”

“You have to be strong, Ian,” Kara said, and she placed a hand on my arm. “Nobody is going to fire you if you show that you really care. And I don’t know anybody who cares more about people than Ian Rosenthal.”

I tried to believe her, but I couldn’t. This town always needed a scapegoat. Growing up here, I’d realized that. And no matter how good of a job I did trying to patch things together, if I wasn’t careful, that scapegoat would be me.

“This is just bringing back everything,” I said, and I felt angry tears welling up in my eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about Lia.”

“This is different. Lia ran away,” Kara told me, and she grabbed my shoulders, squeezing them tightly. “We’ll find the little boy, I promise.”

My spirits weren’t much better after I left the church. When I got home I found Christie sitting on the couch in silence. She jumped right up when I walked in the door, wringing her hands. She hadn’t been crying, but she looked upset. “Hey,” she said. “I’m really sorry about what I said earlier. You were right. It was disrespectful and didn’t help. Sometimes I think it would be good for me to start having a little faith.” She gave a weak smile, her eyes anxious.

My anger from earlier slipped away. “It’s okay Christie. I forgive you.” I opened my arms and she sprung into them as we hugged tightly. I felt a warmth spreading throughout my chest. We’d never been this close before.

She pulled away far too quickly. “I’ll help you try and find the boy. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” I said before letting out a deep sigh. “But to be honest with you, I don’t know what else to do.”

Chapter Six

Christine

Christmas was just around the corner and still no signs of the absent child. No ransom notes had been given, no body found. Nothing but silence remained in the hole the child had left, and it frightened Manchester into silence as well. We became a community of fear, barricaded against our neighbors and the winter chill. Everyone thought that the boy would be home for Christmas, but now that he wasn’t, people were really starting to get paranoid. We couldn’t keep living like this...almost anything was better than not knowing. The entire town rested on a thin line of tension, and sooner or later it was going to snap.

Ian seemed to die a little bit more everyday. The longer the boy was gone the worse off he became, and soon it seemed like I was taking care of him more than he was taking care of me. I was having to force him to get out of bed, to eat, to go to church even. The only thing he did relatively well was his job, where he did everything he could to help the other kids cope with the loss of their classmate.

Meanwhile, I was doing everything I could to help Ian cope with the loss of his confidence.

“Why didn’t I spot something? Maybe the kid ran away. Maybe there was something going on, and I didn’t do anything to help him...” he hung his head low while sitting in his chair, his head in his hands.

“There are four hundred kids in the elementary school. You can’t watch them all,” I said sadly, trying to put a comforting hand on his back. He turned away, and I was at a loss for what to do.

And so Christmas morning rolled around. For the first time since the disappearance I woke up to see Ian staring out the window with a smile on his face. He looked like a kid this winterly morning, staring out at the snowy tree branches in wonder, the lights from the small Christmas tree we put up dancing upon his face. His soft eyes seemed to hum with magic, and somewhere in me it struck a tender spot.

“You’re finally awake,” he said, practically levitating over to my couch. “I waited forever for you to wake up.”

“What time is it?” I said groggily, looking around.

“Ten. My parents are expecting us anytime now. Hurry, get dressed!” he told me in excitement.

I laughed and shook my head, rushing through my shower and getting ready, feeling more like a mother than a roommate. “Happy?” I asked as I stepped out fully clothed, my hair up in a bun.

“Not yet,” he said. Taking a holly sprig from one of the decorations around the apartment (and there were a LOT...Ian got really into Christmas) he put it in my hair delicately before pinning his own holly sprig to his hideously tacky Christmas sweater.

“Why don’t you just make a wreath and wrap it all around your head?” I asked, chuckling.

“I did that one year, but I think it’d be overkill if I did it again,” he said.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I laughed, shaking my head.

He gave me my coat, threw on his own and we walked out the door into the light snow, just enough for Christmas morning. Ian was near to bursting, and wouldn’t shut up the entire way there, but I got more and more quiet as we drew closer to the place where Ian’s parents lived.

“You’re awfully shy this morning,” Ian said. “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just...” I bit my lip. “I haven’t celebrated Christmas in awhile. I don’t want to mess it up for your family.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Christie, even if you set the tree on fire you could never mess up Christmas. The season is about love, joy, giving. It’s not about us. It’s about others and about God.”

“I’m not the best with the God thing,” I said, tension filling up my belly as we headed down the road.

“Just relax and enjoy the holiday,” he said. “You’ve only got two people to get along with. How hard can that be?”

Two people besides us meant that there was nobody to distract them if I screwed up, but I guess it was better than a whole entourage.

I felt like I was going to throw up when we pulled in the long driveway. I peered out the window to see a large yellow house on top of a hill, complete with green shutters, a long white front porch, and a large yard encompassed by snow. On the other side of the driveway was a big red barn with lots and lots of pasture where horses munched on hay. I wanted to say it was like my grandpa’s farm, except my grandpa’s farm had been much smaller than this.

“Breathe,” Ian reminded me, and I realized that I had been holding my breath. I exhaled and tried steadying my hands in my pockets as we went up the steps. Ian rang the doorbell, and we waited.

The door opened and I was instantly swept into a hug as a woman with happy wrinkles around her eyes leaned over to embrace me. “Darling, welcome to our home,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. “Ian’s told me so much about you. I’m Marjorie, his mother.”

She let me go and I swayed on the spot, stunned, as she embraced her son. Behind her an old man with white hair and a beard happily chuckled, extending a hand for me to shake. “My name’s Ahren. It’s a pleasure to have you.”

“Christie,” I said, still stunned. Marjorie’s smile nearly ripped her face in half as she said, “Come in, come in! Supper’s nearly ready, and then it’s time for presents!”

I stepped inside and looked around, my mouth dropping open in shock. The entire place was decorated to a T, like something out of a Good Housekeeping magazine, Holiday Edition. I didn’t know people actually lived like this. It was clear Ian’s parents would give New York a run for its money when it came to Christmas decorating.

“I hope I didn’t make too much,” Marjorie said, blushing. “I just wanted to make sure everybody had enough to eat.”

As we walked into the immaculate kitchen I realized what she said was an understatement. There was enough food for twelve people on that table, but I did nothing but smile and Ian said, “It looks great Mom. I can’t wait to dig in.”

“Well, pull out a chair for the lady and we’ll start,” Ahren said jollily. He almost reminded me of a skinny Santa Claus, with those rosy cheeks and eyes that sparkled just like Ian’s.

Ian did so and I sat in it, trying to look as perfect as I could and failing miserably. I never had much training in manners...I’d eat carefully, so not to spill something.

As I knew they would, they prayed before the meal. I pretended to bow my head but really just sat there as they blessed the meal, glad their eyes were closed. When they were done we started passing the food around, Ian digging into each and every entree as if he had a shovel instead of a spoon. Me, I hesitated, taking as much as I could without being insulting but making sure it wasn’t so much that I wouldn’t be able to finish my plate.

“Christie,” Marjorie said, and I snapped to attention. “What a pretty name.”

“It’s short for Christine,” I said, trying to control my voice. “It was my grandmother’s name.”

“You never told me that,” Ian said, his mouth full of mashed potatoes.

“Ian! Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Marjorie reprimanded.

“Oh it’s okay, he does it at home all the time,” I laughed, trying to break the ice.

“Ian, we taught you better,” Ahren said. “At least not in front of the ladies, please.”

Ian looked from one face to the next before raising his fork in a very Boy Scout type way and mumbling, “I promise,” while food fell out of his mouth. All at once, the three of us burst out laughing.

I relaxed. This wasn’t going so bad after all. Dinner went pretty well from that point on, and I was able to let my guard down just a bit. When we moved into the living room to open gifts, however, I tensed up. I had brought Ian’s gift with me, hidden in the truck, and had snuck it inside when I was “going to the bathroom.” The gift that I had made for Ian’s parents was on top of it...but would it be enough?

My fears were unfounded. “Oh Christie,” Marjorie said as I handed her the gift. “You didn’t have to get us anything, dear.”

“Your son has been taking care of me for months, and Mr. Rosenthal helped heal me when I was hurt,” I said. “It’s not much, but it’s the least I could do.”

Out from the wrappings came a long Christmas table runner, reversible so that you could swap it over after the holidays to a winter scene. I had spent a long time picking over each and every detail, hoping I hadn’t got the table length wrong by Ian’s estimates. It looked sort of hokey compared to all the elaborate finishings in this house, but it gave the table more of a warmer touch.

“Oh darling,” Marjorie breathed. “It’s very lovely. Where did you get it?”

“I made it,” I admitted bashfully. “I’m sorry I couldn’t buy you something, but I don’t have very much money...”

“Nonsense. This is more wonderful than anything you could have ever bought us,” Ahren said, looking the table runner over with approval. “We’ve needed one for ages, by the way. Our dishes keep scratching the oak.”

“What a tragedy,” Ian proclaimed with a laugh. I elbowed him in the side.

“And this is from us as well,” Ahren said, handing me a package. With the air whooshing out of me I protested, “No I...I don’t deserve...”

“Nonsense! Go ahead, open it!” Ahren insisted.

I did so to find a pair of (hand knitted) mittens, along with a scarf and a cozy hat. I looked at Ian accusingly and he said, “Hey, I knew you needed them and you wouldn’t let me buy them. I let it slip to my mom, alright?”

“Yeah yeah.” I put all of them on and instantly felt cozy. Even my insides were warming up, although that could have been the fact that I hadn’t opened a Christmas present in over three years.

“Well it looks like it’s payback time,” Ahren said as Marjorie came out with a big box to Ian, from me, plopping it in his lap. Shaking his head, he said, “Christie, I told you not to get me anything.”