Sweet Christmas Kisses (139 page)

I felt way out of the loop. “What do you mean, ‘too?’ Alice’s marriage is in trouble?”

“If it isn’t, that’s just because Alice has the patience of a saint. Or more likely, she’s given up wanting more from life,” said Carla.

“You’re psychoanalyzing. Are dress designers supposed to psychoanalyze in their free time?” Francie was staring furiously at the back of Carla’s head.

“Dress designers are just like bartenders. People tell us things. Not sure why a fitting room seems to turn into a confessional so often, but I’ve learned to just listen and make encouraging comments here and there. An awful lot of married women in this town seem unhappy, though I don’t exactly keep count.”

“You should publish your findings, Carla. I don’t know what scientific journal would want to do that for you. Is
MAD Magazine
still out there?” Francie laughed at her own joke.

Carla stopped the powerful Mustang in front of a tidy white house on Walnut Street and blew the horn.

“Um. I don’t mind going up and ringing the bell,” I offered, opening the car door.

“Nah. She’ll be ready. You will have to get out though, and let her in the back seat.”

“Carla is having her second childhood. No boring four-door vehicles for her. Right, sis?”

Carla nodded, watching the house. “I’m usually by myself anyway, and heaven forbid somebody ask me to babysit and carry a child seat.” She turned to me. “No offense. Matthew is terrific. I’m just not motherly, I guess. And after you hear about unhappy relationships all day long, it’s easy to say I’m going to stay single and childless.”

Francie sighed, looking out the side window. “You might change your mind, if the right man came along.”

“Breaking up a relationship is rough—I should know. But I’m sure glad I never ended up with a child to raise alone.” She hit the steering wheel with one hand. “Melissa, I’m sorry. I keep saying the wrong things here. You ladies might have to carry the conversation without me, if I can’t do any better than this. I’ll have you all hating me in no time.”

“I don’t listen to you anyway, sweetie,” Francie smiled at her sister and batted her eyelashes.

“Hey, don’t worry about hurting my feelings, Carla,” I said. “Because I—”

Alice appeared and waved at us, turned to be sure her front screen door shut securely, and then smiled toward the Mustang. I climbed out of the car and hugged her.

“Hey, girlfriend. I’m so glad you could make it. We’ve got loads of time to catch up on anything and everything.” I squeezed Alice’s hands. “Uh—front or back seat? It’s been pointed out that we’re living Carla’s second childhood, if you didn’t know.”

Carla waved a diamond-draped hand. “Hey, the way I look at it, this is the vixenmobile, ladies. You haven’t lived until you’ve driven down the street of anywhere but Serendipity, with the top down on this gorgeous car. Right, Alice?”

“Right.” Alice took sunglasses out of her handbag and slid them on her nose. “Beautiful women stylin’ in our big, dark shades, music turned up. There’s always plenty of attention from the guys.” She giggled and suddenly looked years younger.

“Yep. And the stink eye from the women
with
those guys.” Carla pulled a bright silk scarf out of her bag and tied it around her thick dark hair.

“Sounds to me like you two are troublemakers,” said Francie, leaning against her headrest. She cleared her throat. “So. Can you put the top down, Carla?”

“Yeah, Carla,” I chimed in while wondering if we’d all end up with pneumonia. “Francie and I want the full experience.”

“You sure you’re up for that? I don’t mind—as long as it’s not raining, I’m happier with it down all year. I just crank up the heat or A/C.” She pulled to a stop in a parking lot, flipped the levers to release the top, and pushed the button to retract it. A minute later we were sailing down State Road 135 with the radio blasting hits from the 1970s. The heater blew full-force.

“She’s my own sister and never took me for a ride like this before,” Francie shouted a while later over the wind, music, and road noise.

“You’ve been staying pretty close to Mom since you came home,” yelled back Carla.

“A little break once in a while…would be nice.” Francie finished the sentence a little softer. I looked back at Francie and wondered if she was sorry she’d said it at all.

We rode for a while without talking much but sang along with the radio when we knew the words. Carla beat on the steering wheel for percussion on her favorite songs. I felt young and free, and didn’t care that the wind was tying my long hair into knots.

By the time we got to the next little town, a cold mist had begun. Carla pulled over in the empty lot of a nearby bank and put the top back up.

“Hate to do this, ladies.”

I wanted to say something encouraging but was pretty sure my teeth would chatter too loudly. Half an hour later, we were in a Louisville shopping mall, drinking designer coffee and trying to form our strategy.

“I need to hit the big stores,” Carla said. “I’ve made Mom’s gift—a fabulous bathrobe, and…really all I need is stuff for Jim and David—and Matthew. Ooh, I need help with that, Mel. I bought gift cards for my employees, though I don’t like the impersonal way that feels. It’s what they’ll enjoy though.” She shrugged. “What about you ladies?”

I was pretty sure that hesitation meant she was making things for the rest of us too. I hoped so because Carla’s work was gorgeous. We decided to split into pairs for the rest of the morning, meet for lunch, and then mix up the pairs for the afternoon. That way I could shop for Francie whenever I wasn’t shopping
with
Francie, for example.

“Last thing, we’ll all hit the toy store together and get stuff for Matthew, okay?” Francie pulled a list out of her jeans pocket. “At the toy store, I’m shopping on Mom’s behalf too. She wants to buy him a toy farm.” She looked up at me. “She wants your okay on it, Mel. The rest of her shopping she’s done online.”

We met at one of the mall restaurants for lunch. Everybody had several pretty bags of secrets, which we would divvy up in portions of the trunk before heading out again after we ate.

“What about the Christmas shop?” I asked. “Are you guys doing that this year?”

Francie stirred her hot tea. “Christmas shop is covered. Mom and I did an inventory and she knew the companies she orders from. We ordered it all online, and stuff should arrive in time to open.”

“That’s a relief,” said Alice. “I wasn’t sure she’d have the heart to even deal with it.”

“She forced herself, as you can imagine,” said Francie. “She feels so strongly that she owes it to Dad to make sure the farm keeps going.”

“She can’t do that on her own, of course. After that day when David suggested you sell, has that been discussed anymore?” I wanted to know and didn’t want to know at the same time. What kind of friend would I be to let them sell for less than it was worth? And what kind of friend would I be to push them toward selling, if they weren’t ready?

“Mom is adamant that the farm keeps going,” said Francie, and Carla nodded. “Unfortunately, the bulk of the work falls to Jim because he makes himself available for it. I did a little tree trimming with him this summer, but he did most of it, and that’s after working all day.”

“Not like he’s digging ditches all day, Francie,” said Carla. “He sits in a chair and pushes papers.”

“And occasionally makes a trip to the courthouse. But the stress of being a lawyer, you know. Mom worries about Jim’s health. She’s afraid he’ll have a heart attack like Dad.”

“And die out among the trees, with none of us there to help him.” Carla fiddled with her salad, not eating. “You just can’t help wondering what would have happened if one of us had been there when Dad.... Mom blames herself—I know she does.”

“But that’s the way your dad was, right?” Alice touched Francie’s hand and Carla’s. “He loved being out there among the trees, working. He was so happy doing that. Maybe it’s the way he would have wanted to die.”

“He would have hated getting feeble and having to depend on Mom or one of us to do things for him. That’s for sure.” Francie wiped a tear and took a sip of tea.

“And he wasn’t alone when he died. That’s one thing. Daisy was with him.” I re-stated this because the girls had told me about it soon after their dad’s death. “I’m sure that was a comfort to him. Don’t you think?”

Francie and Carla nodded.

“Daisy’s whole life, wherever Dad went, she was with him, or at least tried to go. Jim said that when he found Dad…Daisy was right there with him, laying so still he thought maybe she was dead too.”

The grieving Daisy had whimpered for days, and it had been weeks before her appetite returned. Now Daisy was running and playing again with Matthew.

“It’s so much fun to see Daisy and Matthew together.” Francie said. “Mom and I love watching them in the back yard through the kitchen window. I haven’t seen Daisy have that much energy….” She let the sentence trail off. “Mom says Matthew makes her feel alive again. You can see he does that for Daisy too. It’s great how they fit together.”

We were silent for a few minutes, in our own thoughts.

“So what’s the right answer for your family? About the farm,” asked Alice, looking from Francie to Carla.

“Dunno. This year it’s Christmas as usual—as much as we can manage without Dad, anyway. We’ve been working in that direction, but I dread opening day like crazy,” Carla said.

Francie nodded. “I do too, and I don’t even know what to expect after being gone so long. Brad always wanted us to have Christmas in our own home, and come here for New Year’s.”

“Car loads of people pulling up for about a month straight, looking for the perfect Christmas tree procurement experience,” said Carla. “Complete with Mannheim Steamroller on the loudspeaker inside and outside the shop, hand-saws loaned to them so they can wander the acres of trees to find the perfect one. Then, when they find it, they drag it back and one of us helps tie it to the top of their vehicle. SUVs are the worst. Have to get the step-ladder. While we’re doing that, maybe the mom or kids wander into the shop and find ornaments or cookies or candy or wassail mix or big angels to set on the mantel. You know, whatever will make their home perfect for the holidays.”

Alice put an arm around Carla. “I’m sorry. I know it’s going to be so hard. Your dad always was laughing and whistling when Dean and I came out to get our tree. And back when I was a kid and went with Mother and Dad, I remember how much fun he made it for everyone. I thought then Mr. Standish was one of Santa’s special helpers.” She shook her head. “Maybe my mom said that, but I do remember thinking it.”

 Carla and Francie were beaming at the memory of their dad, but at the edge of tears.

“Maybe I can help some if you need me,” I offered. “Not sure how Matthew could fit into that. Maybe I can find a sitter.” I hated the idea of leaving him, since evenings and weekends were our time together.

“Me too,” said Alice. “And Dean would be glad to help, I’m sure. He’d be good at tying trees onto people’s cars, sharpening the saws, and things like that. He knows the different kinds of trees too, so he could help people with information.”

“Funny thing,” said Carla. “You might think bad weather would cut down on crowds, but if it snows, we have a deluge of customers. They think they’re going to have a Norman Rockwell moment.”

“Or Currier and Ives.”

“Or
Christmas Vacation
. It’s usually a combination,” Carla said, chuckling. “This year you know what I’ll miss?”

She looked at each of us in turn. “
I’ll be Home for Christmas
.”

Francie groaned, grinning. “Dad whistled that song all the time. I’d forgotten.”

“Yes you’ve been gone a few years. Dad whistled
I’ll be Home for Christmas
nearly constantly from Thanksgiving to Christmas Day. I remember when I was maybe twenty, asking him to pick another song. He just smiled and kept on whistling. It drove me nuts.”

“David tried wearing ear plugs one year but he couldn’t hear the customers talking, so Dad made him take them out.” Francie giggled.

“I’m sure that song has been on the radio a few thousand times already.” Carla looked down into her mug. “Christmas music starts in October anymore. I haven’t heard it yet, but I know I’ll cry when I do.”

“No doubt.” Alice patted her hand.

“Poor Mom. I don’t know how she manages.” Francie shook her head. “You know? When it’s this hard on us, you know it’s horrible for her.”

“They were such a couple. Did everything together. They both loved the holidays so much and were the first in our area to have a Christmas tree farm. I understand her wanting to keep the farm going because of that.” Carla drained her mug and set it down carefully.

So we’d returned to the original topic and of course nothing had changed. There didn’t seem to be a good solution, and Christmas season was nearly upon us.

The Sunday before Thanksgiving, I took Matthew for the first time to the church I attended as a child. Some people remembered me, but everyone was charmed by Matthew. After the service, as we filed out the minister solemnly shook Matthew’s hand.

“I’m glad to meet you, Matthew. You be sure and come back next week because we’ll have a big Christmas tree in the sanctuary. The children get to help decorate it. Won’t that be fun?”

“Sure. Are you getting your Christmas tree from Mr. Jim? He has the best ones.”

The minister laughed. “Well, we certainly are. We always get a Standish tree.”

“That’s good. I work there,” said Matthew, puffing up importantly.

“Really?” 

“Yes. I help Mr. Jim with the trees. Sometimes we ride the four-wheeler to the back forty.” He looked down, concentrating hard to get the two halves of the zipper on his jacket lined up. “And I help Miss Lillian in the Christmas shop.” The zipper went up smoothly and Matthew beamed into the minister’s eyes. “Christmas is coming.”

“So it is,” the minister chuckled, patting Matthew’s shoulder gently and then stood up to face me. “Sounds like the Standish family has some especially good help this year.”